


When Life Gives You Limoncello

by whatthefoucault



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Baking, Birthday, Cuddling & Snuggling, Food, Illustrated, M/M, Pie, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 03:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14487636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefoucault/pseuds/whatthefoucault
Summary: In which Bucky has baked a pie.





	When Life Gives You Limoncello

**Author's Note:**

> Previously seen on [my tumblr,](http://whatthefoucault.tumblr.com/post/171727342361/may-i-see-some-id-sir-bucky-had-not-been) like a month ago, but I felt it would be remiss not to include it here as well.

“May I see some ID, sir?”

Bucky had not been anticipating the question. Granted, their shopping for the day included a bottle of limoncello, which he fully expected would sit, minus the tablespoon required for the pie filling, untouched at the back of a cupboard until Christmas. He blinked, probably more times than was standard, fumbling for a piece of identification.

“Uhh,” he said, handing over his passport. The cashier carefully read the document, then looked back at Bucky, then back at the passport, then back at Bucky again. She set the passport down on the conveyor.

“This is a fake ID, sir,” she said, like someone who was not paid nearly enough to put up with whatever nonsense she likely put up with every day. “It’s against store policy to sell alcoholic products to anyone under the age of 21 and without a _valid_ piece of ID.”

“No, I’m… genuinely 101 years old today,” he told her. “Long story. Please don’t make me google myself.”

The cashier sighed. “Not the weirdest thing I’ve heard today,” she shrugged. “I’ll let it slide, this time. But don’t tell my manager.”

Bucky nodded, quickly bundling his shopping into his arms. Steve would be wondering what took him so long.

—

“Do you think anybody’s gonna mind we didn’t do cake?” asked Bucky, applying a few final touches of flame to the cloud of meringue. There was something special about lemon meringue pie, beyond the perfect balance of crisp, buttery pastry, sharp and silken curd, and lofty, pillow-soft meringue: sometimes, very rarely and on very special occasions, Bucky and Steve would go to a nice restaurant, and share a slice of lemon meringue pie. He treasured those little intimacies, long before he knew that Steve treasured them just as much. 

“If anybody complains that we’re having lemon meringue pie for your birthday, they’re not allowed to be our friends,” argued Steve, his soft beard tickling Bucky’s cheek as he swooped in for a tender kiss. “Lemon meringue pie is the most perfect dessert anybody’s invented. Besides, you baked it.”

Bucky knew that he could easily have absolved himself of kitchen duty on his own birthday, but there was something calming in the act of working pastry or whisking eggs that he would hardly have traded for a day of enforced leisure. Besides, it felt good making things to share with friends.

“Yeah, I did,” he smiled.

“Happy birthday, Buck,” said Steve.

“Thanks punk,” replied Bucky. “Just so you know, if anybody gets me 101 dogs as a birthday gift, I just want you to know that we’re keeping all of them, every single one.”

“Yeah,” agreed Steve, snuggling in a little closer. “Of course, this means you agree to pick up after their business. All 101 of them. Every day.”

“It’s worth it,” said Bucky.


End file.
